Relaxing At Gunpoint

by Jazz Cattle

/
1.
WAVES OF WORDS Waves of words Drowning in the dot.com ocean's roaring Waves of words A-B-Seagulls above swooping, soaring A literary pool Awash with not-my-type writers A Fourth Estate school Expelling spreadsheet generation detritus Waves of words Bursting my thinks bubbles Waves of words Sink down into the surfeit of troubles Salt in the wound Friendship sunk, I cling to an epilogue Will I be marooned For leaving her seabed smeared in whitewash? Drifting like a happy-ever-rafter till I hit dry-wit land No exclamation marks the spot where I washed up on the ampersand Waves of words From a trickle of Chinese whispers Waves of words To a tsunami of stutterers and lispers Was I insane To walk the plank with salty sea-dog brothers Down the drain Dirty bookworms revert to type under the covers Waves of words Lapping the shores of Hello and Goodbye Waves of words Can't fathom the depths, there's only white between the lines Sent to Helvetica For diving for pearls and making the present tense Sub-sub-editor Please don't put your full stop on my life sentence. And if the inkwells run dry and the paper boats are scrapped, depleted Will the story of our love be spiked, abandoned, uncompleted?
2.
MONSTERS MUST BE DESTROYED Working double-shift at the In and Out Meatpackers in a line till the milking hour shout Happiness undefined In the daily grind I came out here following the shadow of DeNiro A year after losing my shirt my income's dropped a zero I should've resigned When I was behind CHORUS: I've cock-slapped the girls Now I'm turning on the boys Hollywood made us monsters And monsters must be destroyed Living on strawberries, amyl nitrate and 'zac Staying hard ain't easy on a Teflon-coated rack Scraping the rind In 4/4 time How can I tell my folks I'm respectable When all they see is my shaven testicles? Pick up the slack Get humping, Jack I've cock-slapped the girls Now I'm turning on the boys Hollywood made us monsters And monsters must be destroyed In with the kick Out with the hat Keep it well sick Keep the bass fat Banging, banging, banging to get white blood out my rocks Then the continuity girl says I'm wearing different socks We'll have to take it again Don't shrink, my violet friend At home in the evening with the missus, smoking kif "Let's get it on so get 'em off," she says but I'm bored stiff Ain't my head that aches Too much porn flakes Love all, new balls please Score - bored - null and void Hollywood made us monsters And monsters must be destroyed
3.
LET ME PAINT A PICTURE FOR YOU As I tend each paintbrush bristle I give a little whistle With lips that long to kiss all My memories hello. Not even if you pay or dare me Would I climb Blood Hill - scary But here I am and solitary Watch out down below! Let me paint a picture for you See the world from my point of view Not an abstract or a caricature An untainted vision, clear and pure Care to inspect the sketches in my bureau? Figures caught in chiaroscuro Let me paint a picture for you Stay here, a warm gentle breeze all Day, no need for an easel Lay my pad on my knees'll Do comfortably for me. Surrounded by my paintbox clutter A round of tea and bread and butter The sound of crow wings flutter Above but he won't claw me. Let me paint a picture of you Every line a road or a clue It's my personal perspective (if you don't like it I'll correct it) It's probably better up the other way What are you prepared to pay For me to paint a picture of you? Climbing up up up Never stop stop stop To the top top top Of Blood Hill What a scene scene scene The rolling green green green Strong as poteen 'teen 'teen Drawn from a still Let me paint a picture for you Foxy brushwork, varied in hue I’m not immune to critics’ derision They can get lost in my composition Dry theorists fly when I splash wet-in-wet Can you see what it is yet? Let me paint a picture - - pour a tincture - After I paint a picture for you
4.
04:43
KOLIBRI The envelope was tramp tooth brown Stabbed on its back, a blood red wax seal Slitting the side, I removed ghost white paper Unfolded it to reveal The names of well-heeled debauched perverts Plotters and traitors to the State I reached for the death black telephone And consigned them to their fate I dialled the number The receiver purred A friendly voice said, "What's the word?" … "Hummingbird." I hoisted myself out of my chair Limped across my office to the fireplace In the mirror the glow of the flames Dance in the bones and hollows of my face I brushed the dandruff from my shoulders Pick a strand of blond hair from my trousers And I ejaculated on my father To visions of dead men in burning houses I dialled the number The receiver purred A friendly voice said, "What's the word?" … "Hummingbird." Eleven years on I kill myself Cremated with cans of paraffin But beware, you dogs, the game's not over I am airborne and what you're breathing I'm in the syringe of pancuronium bromide Pentobarbital and potassium chloride I'm the power in the chair that gets you fried I'm the hot air that moves waves of genocide I dialled the number The receiver purred A friendly voice said, "What's the word?" … "Hummingbird."
5.
03:45
WONDERWORLD The dawn is breaking And I awaken Rubbing the sleep from my dreamy eyes The dewdrops glisten And I listen To birdsong carried on the lightening skies. Hair is combed Teeth are brushed Sleepyheads are being rushed To find their place in the crush Of trains and cars and buses I wonder what the fuss is In my big warm bed so snug and tightly curled In my wonderworld. I hear car doors slamming Cursing and damning The Monday-Friday chorus chimes bang on time Housewives complaining It's started raining Hurry, get the washing off the line. Pots to wash Plates as well Bin the bread crust and eggshell Fix the ornament that fell During a game of kiss chase I still feel the kiss on my face Warm as the sun that glowed and swirled Over my wonderworld. Workers returning Streetlights burning Sister Luna pulls her dark duvet on the day Fill the slippers Grill the kippers Let the stereotyping pool drain away Slip off guard Go cold stream You're lit by a flickering screen Drift in and out of a close-of-daydream No care where the next hit comes from Schoolboy blade, madman bullet, governmental bomb Take shelter where no hate bomb can be hurled My wonderworld.
6.
7.
BRITISH EMPIRE STATE Was it the baba ghanoush On the rare Scotch blackface That triggered my rainbow of vomit? I gargle mouthwash Throw on a fresh shirt Hit the bar for gin and catatonic. A perspiring Frenchman Here on business Like the natives, asks if I'm American I flash a row of pearlies "Nottingham in England; I'm the middle-born of five privileged sons." He's in export Gorilla hand ashtrays Elephant foot umbrella stands I check my gold Hunter Make my excuses And mingle 'neath the fly-carousel ceiling fans. Is it the crap tobacco Or the horse piss vino That perfumes the air with halitosis? I can't stand it here And I can't stand here This jet-lagger's got executive class of thrombosis. One more day Then I'm gone - manana Bloodshot eyes glazed From the smoke of havanas I'm trying to remain In a British Empire state I have to stay and wait For a certain date. I see a figure rush I feel my hand crushed "Name's Walters, seconded from the old firm" Finger click; a tray of gins Fills me up and fills me in "Keep it under your hat, not a murmur." We leave the sex tourists Hail and board a rickshaw The buildings puke out pavements of workers Proceeding at a steady jog Walters bangs out a monologue: "You can only trust Yorkshiremen and Gurkhas". False passport, currency Duplicate hotel key "He'll be back before midnight so let's go" Destination reached I step out on the street He rides off into the clouds of teargas and discos. Midnight comes and goes The target doesn't show 4am I'm half-asleep, leaning on the balustrade Explosion rips my shirt and vest Blood pumps out my chest Walters there, with a gun and gorilla hand ashtray One more day Now I'm gone - adios, manana Bloodshot eyes glazed Bulging like an iguana's I'm lying on the carpet In a British Empire state I have to stay and wait For a certain date.
8.
02:48
OLD BAG 'IM: "See 'er?" - 'IS MATE: "'Oo?" - 'IM: "'Er!" - 'IS MATE: "'OO?" - 'IM: "There!" - 'IS MATE: "Where?" - 'IM: "THERE!!" - 'IS MATE: "Yeah…?" 'IM: "Trudging along in dog-blanket clothes I tell you, she used to wear better than those But age and gravity have let her down, mate She used to be tasty, now she's past her sell-by date. Quick, turn away, 'cos she's watching this way If she clocked me after all this time, what could I say? She was my first love, so dear to me, man Proud to hold her by my side, clutching my hand But now she's an OLD BAG - blowing down the street OLD BAG - getting under your feet OLD BAG - full of crap and wind OLD BAG - stick it in the bin … But give me a drink or ten And her luck just might be in again…" 'ER: "See them?" - 'ER MATE: "'Oo?" - 'ER: "Them!" - 'ER MATE: "Men?" - 'ER: "Yeah." - 'ER MATE: "Where?" - 'ER: "THERE!" - 'ER MATE: "Yeah?" 'ER: "See the one in the turn-ups on the left? Stick a mullet on his red slaphead Take 12 inches off that gone-to-waist Take a chin or three from under that face. Looks like only Stella's touched his lips And skips of chips have gone straight to his hips He's the one who said, "There's no-one else" Put me on a pedestal then left me on the shelf I fell for his OLD BLAG - sweeping me off my feet OLD BLAG - sweet-talking piece of meat. Now he's an OLD SAG - gy-faced soak with his cans in an OLD BAG - gripped in his shaky hand … But if he wants a sympathy shag He can grab the love handles of this old bag…" OLD BAG - blowing down the street OLD BAG - getting under your feet OLD BAG - full of crap and wind OLD BAG - stick it in the bin OLD BLAG - sweeping me off my feet OLD BLAG - sweet-talking piece of meat. Now he's an OLD SAG - gy-faced soak with his cans in an OLD BAG - gripped in his shaky hand
9.
10.
03:29
I CAME ROUND Nicotine autumn 2am Said you bought 'em That old lie again Yes, I know It's the way you tap your spoon And change the tune Must you fidget? Give-away Now you're rigid Scared to say Where you been And who you been with Hey, who gives? I'm walking away from your lame guessing games 'Cos it's obvious To all of us What's up And what's down Aren't you glad I came round? Shanghai nightcap Skin bruising I can't tell You been using Ferme la bouche You know what you got One more shot Denial What you do Defile All I do for you One more chance For you to screw it up again And then again I'm walking away from your lame guessing games 'Cos it's obvious To all of us What's up And what's down Aren't you glad I came round?

about

"The records I had made with Bisonics, and the 'Only Two Can Play' set I made with Doug Murphy, have been almost solely reliant on chance, hazard and improvisation in their creation, squeezing in the words wherever the music would allow. A couple of lyrics that I already had tunes for in my bonce - 'Wonderworld' and 'Old Bag' - couldn't be adapted for such a loose framework, and so I approached one-man-orchestra Andrew Petrie to help me record them. I wrote up another half dozen sets of lyrics, produced demos of them with studio ace Jason Emberton, and then stood back and let Andrew fly. This album is the result."
- Paul Hamilton, August 2012

VIDEOS!
Let Me Paint A Picture For You - vimeo.com/47442418
British Empire State - www.youtube.com/watch

credits

released September 10, 2012

Made in England between September 2011 and June 2012.
JAZZ CATTLE:
Andrew Petrie - guitars, keyboards, bass, percussion, sax, clarinet, autoharp, dulcimer (probably), whistle, kazoo, sitar, samples, kitchen sink.
Paul Hamilton - voice, one finger-click (British Empire State).

Jason Emberton - piano (Wonderworld), pre-production, vocal recordings and mastering.
Stephen Morphet - mix and additional recording.

Sleeve design: Dave Pope.
Our Man In Ascot: Andy 'Topper' Thomson.
Band photos: Phoebe at The Fentiman Arms, London.

'Look up, Hannah, look up!'

Produced by Andrew Petrie.
A JAZZ CATTLE BLOW.

CD and lyrics at www.smokingantrecords.com
Copyright held by Smoking Ant Records Ltd for the exclusive
benefit of the respective artists & composers.
Unauthorised duplication & broadcast are violations of applicable laws.
℗ & © Smoking Ant Records Ltd, 2012.
All rights reserved
www.smokingantrecords.com

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